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Jane tugged the flimsy curtain aside to find me squatting on the floor, holding my sides while I heaved with laughter. She grinned and grabbed my arm to pull me up. “You know it’s true.”
“Come on, he’s better than that,” I gasped. “I mean, he’s cute, and he’s nice. That’s got to make him better than an ugly family car.”
Jane tipped her head from side to side, considering the metaphor more carefully. “Okay, but just because he’s objectively handsome in a Gap ad kind of way, and also because he’s objectively loaded. So…maybe he’s a Saab. A nice, well made, sensible Saab. God, even the car name sounds boring, doesn’t it?”
I giggled again. “Don’t start again, Jane.” It was one of the things I loved about living with her—she could always, always make me laugh.
“Saaaaaaab,” she droned, but shut the curtain again to let me finish getting dressed. I quickly put on my clothes and gathered the black shirt and hanger to bring up to the front.
“Ooh, I’m glad you went with that one, even if it means your closet stays monochromatic,” Jane said as we walked up to the cash register.
“Like you’re one to talk,” I retorted. When she wasn’t dressing professionally, Jane’s look consisted of torn skinny jeans and a rotating series of black concert tees.
“Did you find something you like?” asked the salesgirl.
I handed her the silk blouse and a pair of earrings I snagged at the counter. “I think so. I hope so.”
“This blouse is super sexy,” she said with a sly wink. “I’m sure he’ll love it. The, um, bacon, not the oatmeal.”
Nineteen
Between my class work and the clinic, the rest of the week flew by. Brandon and I traded a few more flirtatious texts (always via Google, much to my irritation—I was fairly certain it was punishment for not providing my number on my original application), and solidified our plans together. On Friday evening, I raced into the apartment with just under an hour to get ready. I had stayed late at the clinic helping Kieran with a particularly challenging client, and the T had been delayed on top of that.
Jared had called two more times on Thursday, but I hadn’t found the time to call him back, instead opting to send a quick text about having a busy weekend of studying. I didn’t normally like to lie, but something told me he would be the kind of guy who’d want to turn a “Dear John” conversation into a big long thing. I had other things on my mind.
I dropped my messenger bag by the door, kicked off the sensible black pumps that were suitable for walking through the fog that settled over Boston that day, and raced to my bedroom. After I tore off my black suit and tossed the separates on the bed, I wrapped my robe around myself and padded back to the bathroom, only to find it locked, with the shower running. Jane was in there, and clearly not alone.
A telltale peal of laughter slipped out from the bathroom door, followed by a grunt that couldn’t possibly be female. I frowned. I glanced at the hallway mirror at my reflection, which was about as frazzled as I felt. My hair was falling out of its bun, and about a million frizzy flyaways created a red-orange mane all around my face. Mascara was smudged beneath one eye. A light sheen of sweat glistened across my brow.
I banged on the door. “Jane! I need to get in there.”
A deep male voice murmured something in response to Jane’s higher voice. The door opened, and Jane stuck out her very wet head, water running down her neck to where she held a towel around the rest of her body.
“Dude!” she growled. “I’m a little occupied here. Do you think it could wait?”
“Dude yourself!” I hissed back. “I have a date tonight. An important date.You know this. And he’s coming in”—I glanced down at my watch—“forty-seven minutes, and I look like I just got dragged through a gutter!”
Her eyes blinked wide with sudden recognition. “Oh shit, I’m sorry! I totally forgot. We’ll be out in two seconds.”
She shut the door in my face, and I heard her muffled voice speaking to her obviously disappointed partner. Within a minute, the water shut off, and Jane shuffled out, still clad in her towel, followed by a tall, thin guy with shaggy blond hair who held my green bath towel around his waist. Gross.
“Uh, Sky, this is Greg,” Jane said sheepishly. “Greg, Skylar.” She tossed her wet head in his direction. “MBA program.”
Greg pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and tipped his chin at me. “What’s up, roommate?”
I glared. “That’s my towel.”
He looked down, dripping water from his hair onto his big feet, then looked back up with a horsey grin. “Oh, sorry, man. You want it back?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I’ll find another. You guys better not have left any of your…remnants in the shower.”
“Don’t worry, Sky. We were just getting clean, that’s all.” Jane clasped Greg’s hand and tugged him into her room. “Have a good time tonight!”
I pulled a clean towel from the hall closet before ducking into the bathroom with a spray bottle of Lysol.
* * *
This timeI was waiting outside my building when Brandon pulled up. Since I wasn’t planning to repeat the last time Brandon had come to pick me up, I also wore clothing that was a lot harder to remove: a pair of black cigarette pants, the new blouse that hung provocatively off one shoulder, and black ankle boots with silver-tipped toes that Jane called my “shit-kickers.” I was tucked cozily into my black wool trench coat, and my hair, which I had only had time to dry at the roots, now lay about my shoulders in waves that were still frizzing a bit around the crown of my head. I normally didn’t wear a lot of makeup anyway, but I had taken the time to line my eyelids and apply a few coats of mascara to make my green eyes pop. I felt confident. And, after listening to the noises Jane and her dude-of-the-evening made through the thin walls, fairly hard up.
